


The Emancipation of Han Sunhwa and Yoo Youngjae

by michelleisat



Category: B.A.P, K-pop, Secret (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Domestic, Disability, Dreams, F/M, Family, Feminist Themes, Freedom, Friendship, Growing Up, Infertility, Marriage, Old Age
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-09
Updated: 2014-09-09
Packaged: 2018-02-16 02:10:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 19,511
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2251938
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/michelleisat/pseuds/michelleisat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Youngjae was just your average nerd, and Sunhwa was the most beautiful girl on campus. That's what it looked like, at least. Funny how grown-up life turns out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Emancipation of Han Sunhwa and Yoo Youngjae

**Author's Note:**

  * For [cacodaemonia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cacodaemonia/gifts).



> For Haneure. I really hope this story is what you were looking for! It won’t be obvious which of your prompts I’m answering at the beginning, or even that I’m answering any ... It’ll become clear as you read on, though. <333 
> 
> **Warnings** : Language, mild gore, minor character death and one misogynistic character who is roundly refuted by everyone else. 
> 
> A big thank you to my always insightful and supportive beta-readers, [roebling](http://archiveofourown.org/users/roebling) and [almostblue](http://archiveofourown.org/users/fictionalaspect/pseuds/almostblue). <333 And the [TheBrownieBunch Round 3 ](http://thebrowniebunch.livejournal.com)for making this possible.

Sunhwa stepped out from the restaurant. A chill hit her. The Seoul winter had always been colder than she could stand.

She pulled her coat as close as she could, and watched her breath form into mist. There were some things to like about Seoul this time of year – these misty breaths, the fancy lights that decorated the streets, the soft layer of snow she’d find over the cars when she woke up. It had been almost thirty years since she’d moved here. In that time, Sunhwa had formed a little habit; a little trick to depend on when the homesickness started to nip at her heart. She would make a short list of things she liked about Seoul. Quite short: just three things on average, so it could be a different list every time. That kept things fresh. That kept her sane.

Sunhwa didn’t know if this particular list made up for the coldness she felt in her bones. She looked up at the night sky. There were no clouds today. Every star was as crystal clear as it could be against the city lights. It was vast: the sky, the city. She felt so small.

He was there, standing near the edge of the sidewalk. He rocked back and forth on his heels, but his broad shoulders formed a strong silhouette. He said urgent things into his cellphone. Important things, Sunhwa imagined, more important than she.

But not today. Today was the day she stopped making herself small.

Sunhwa took a step towards him, imagining her heel crushing doubts into the pavement. She had been watching him too long. It had to be tonight.

“Could I have a light?”

He frowned at her. But he dug into his coat pocket and produced a lighter all the same. She reached into hers for a cigarette. As the flame flickered on, her wedding ring gleamed. She inhaled quickly and took a step back into the darkness.

“Thank you.”

She waited for him to finish his important conversation before she spoke again.

"You know, this is what I've always loved about Seoul. These little moments on the sidewalk, smoking, thinking about your life. Makes you appreciate the city better. You can observe the buildings, feel the air ... look at the people."

She looked at him – really looked, now, as if she was seeing him for the first time. He had a remote look in his eyes as he put his phone back into his pocket. He appeared to be nearing forty, greying at the temples and crinkling, like paper, at his forehead. But the rest of his face was smooth and pale.

"Sometimes, you meet somebody you feel you can talk to."

"Who?"

"Wrong question ... Try again,”  she said, pointedly.

His attention was hers now. He bit his lip, thinking.

"Talk about what?" he said, finally.

She shrugged, trying to appear casual. "Things you can say to a stranger."

"A stranger?"

“Yes … stranger.” She tossed her hair over her shoulder and then peered up through her eyelashes at him, with what she hoped was a seductive air. She had been beautiful as a young woman, she was told. But the years had not been kind.

Did he just look her up and down? A shiver ran through her.

“Why can’t you say these things to someone you know?" Now he was definitely running his eyes over her. She wanted to kiss that smirk off his face. But no, she was getting ahead of herself. She would drag tonight out and enjoy it.

“Oh, you know. There’s no baggage, with a stranger." She took a step towards him, feeling fresh flickers of nervousness. "No stockpiles of losses or guilt."

He was examining her carefully now.

"Wouldn't you like that? A conversation with a perfect stranger. A clean slate!" She strolled away with deliberate casualness, masking her nerves with the dance of smoking. "Or even a chance to revisit the past and refashion the future. How many of those do you get at our age?"

She looked back over her shoulder at him. He was still studying her. Worrying at his lip; considering the proposition.

Sunhwa exhaled. Under his scrutiny, a calm melted over her. She'd given her little performance, now all she could do was wait. She took a drag on her cigarette and breathed out, sending smoke up into the sky.

He exhaled too, finally. “If this is your way of asking me out for a drink,” he said, laughing, "let’s go."

:::

Their knees brushed when the cab hit a bump. Sunhwa shifted, delicately, so her knee remained against his. They had been quiet since they got into the taxi. Sunhwa hadn’t minded because it gave her the opportunity to observe him up close. She tried, again, to look at him as if she were seeing him for the first time. Those creases on his forehead were beginning to make their appearance at the corners of his eyes. There was something frosty about how pale he was, and how still. His trousers were pressed and his coat was plain black – neither new nor of the best quality, but carefully maintained. And yet you could tell there was something more to him. Sunhwa wondered what tonight would bring.

“So one moment, I’m taking a business call. Next thing I know, a beautiful, mysterious lady is chatting me up,” he said. "To what do I owe this pleasure?"

“Aside from your dashing good looks?” she asked, giggling. This was fun. She missed saying things like these. “You shouldn’t question your luck too much. Or my intentions. Why don’t you get to know me first?”

“I would think that involved getting to know your intentions. But that's okay, I'm a gentleman." He leaned back and put an arm over the back of their seat, smiling broadly. "I'll play the lady's game. What do you do?”

“Are you serious? You haven’t even asked me for my name yet."

“I don’t want to know your name. That would spoil the mystery. Does the mystery lady want that?" He smirked again. He was unbelievable. Sunhwa just wanted to ... Unbelievable. "What do you do?”

She smiled and lifted her head challengingly. Two could play at this game. “I can tell this is going to be a long night, mister. I work in finance. What do you do?”

“Me? I start businesses. Mainly software enterprises, but I’m trying something new."

“New?”

“Yes ... I’ve realised that while what start-ups do can be vastly different, the process of creating them is the same. Isn’t that fascinating? That realisation came at the perfect time, because I was getting so bored. So when a contact I had gave me an in to this bike-share idea, I jumped.” He was subtly different now: he had come alive. More alive than when he was flirting with her. It stung. “I hate being bored."

“Who does?” said Sunhwa, mostly to herself. She looked at him sidelong. “You love your job.”

“I do.” The glow in his eyes.

“How lucky for you.” A shard of jealousy was working its way into her gut. She felt ashamed. She had no right to feel that way – if she was honest with herself, it was his sense of direction that had drawn her in. It was visible to her it at a thousand paces. She felt like a moth, circling round a lightbulb that would singe.

“I am lucky. You don’t feel so lucky, do you?” He was looking at her kindly. “Silly me. That was the wrong question.”

“It’s okay.” Now she was ashamed of her shame. “There’s not many questions you can ask when you're just getting to know someone. Can I ask you a question? How did you come to do something you love so much?”

“Are you sure you want me to talk about that? You don’t seem happy with your job. I mean, you weren’t too happy when I started talking about mine.”

“To be honest, I'm at a general low.” Sunhwa slumped in her seat. Of course she didn’t like her job. So what? She never had. “A mid-life crisis. A lack of … I don’t know what.” She shrugged. “I just think maybe, if I heard how you found happiness, I could find mine.”

“Then we can’t stay in Gangnam. We're going to Hongdae."

“Hongdae? Why?” That was the university district. Sunhwa had spent her youth there. But she hadn't been back in years.

“I found my happiness in university. So if you want me to tell you about how I found happiness, it’s only right we go back. Ajusshi, turn the cab round please! Bring us to the Hongik University area.” He rubbed his hands and turned to Sunhwa, anticipation in his face. “I hope there's still good food.”

:::

“How dare you. Busan makgeolli is the best,” she said, with fire. “How dare you.”

“Nope. We can argue all night about this. I won't budge. This is the best pancake and makgeolli in all of Korea. All. Of. Korea,” He talked with his mouth full. It was unbecoming of his age, and the rest of his demeanour. “I’m so glad it’s still here!"

It was also kind of endearing. She'd be damned if she let him know it though – mischief seemed to be the order of the night. “Well, I think it’s selfish, bringing us here just for you.” She sniffed with great offense. “And I beg to differ. It’s nothing compared to the one back home.”

“Ah-hah!” He pointed at her and bounced in his chair. His hair bounced along with him. It was adorable. “You just gave me a clue. About your mid-life crisis. You’re homesick."

“I'm always kind of homesick.”

“Getting warm,” he said, rubbing his hands and shoving another piece of pancake in his mouth. “I knew I was good at puzzles.”

"Hey!" said Sunhwa. "I said I was always kind of homesick. That's not being good at puzzles." She pouted and folded her arms. “Anyway. You were supposed to tell me about how you found happiness. I’m not going to put up with this crap alcohol for nothing. Or being surrounded by these kids.” God. She didn’t remember Hongdae being so noisy. Or crowded. Some student in sweatpants had run into her as she was getting out the cab. He had walked off without apologising. Sunhwa would have never let her son behave this way. Never.

“I thought you liked kids.”

“I don’t remember saying I liked kids. Not tonight.”

“Oh. Well I guess it’s just obvious.” He chewed. “You have a kid-loving face.”

“You have a full-of-nonsense face,” said Sunhwa. She picked up a piece of pancake with her chopsticks and tossed it at his head. “Happiness. How you found it. Tell me!”

“Demanding. And childish. Hey!” he said, dodging another piece of pancake. “That’s good pancake, don’t waste it. Okay, okay, I’ll tell you.” He straightened himself up and clasped his hands very seriously.

“I was not always interested in business. I started out as an IT major. But it all changed when I saw this girl in university …”

:::

“There she is, Daehyun.”

“Mmrph?”

“I told you not to talk with your mouth full,” I said, without taking my eyes off the girl in the middle of the group in the hallway. I wanted to drink in the sight of her for as long I could. Plus, I had seen enough of Daehyun to last me a lifetime.

{“Wait,” said Sunhwa. “You scolded someone for talking with their mouth full? Are you sure you’re talking about you?”

“Shush, will you let me finish? This was more than twenty years ago. People change. They loosen up. Anyhow, Daehyun said:”}

“Imposshhibuh.”

“How difficult can it be? Look, you don’t even have to stop eating. You swallow. You talk. You take another bite. You wait until you’ve finished chewing. You talk again. Is it so hard?”

“Nuhh. I mhhent.” A pause. “I meant, dude, you’re never bagging a chick like that. She’s out of your league.”

“She’s out of _your_ league, maybe.”

But Daehyun just ignored my jab. He leaned back on the wall behind him. Slurping his coke, looking for all the world like he was preparing to burp.

{“Wait, wait. You have to remember I know nothing about this. Who’s Daehyun?”

"Can’t you read between the lines? He’s a childhood friend. Do I have to do all the work?"}

Anyhow, I couldn't just let him sit there and ignore me. I had to set him straight. Let him know that we were not in high school any more.

“I told you, we’re in university now. We've moved past this 'out of your league' nonsense. It is time to throw off the shackles of the popularity hierarchy. Shackles which, in my opinion, we have partially imposed on ourselves. We’ve prevented ourselves from realising our dreams, and worse, from relating to our fellow human beings. Individuals with the same hopes and dreams, the same struggles and fears, needing the same unconditional love – human beings, with common ground between us all.”

Daehyun rearranged the snapback on his head. “You’re a nerd who wants to bang a cheerleader.”

I sighed. It was tragic, what I had to put up with. “I don’t think she’s a cheerleader.”

“You’re right, too skinny. If she was in a pyramid it would fall over.” Daehyun rubbed his chin. “Pretty. Not so athletic-looking. Obviously popular. Looks so weirdly ... " He twirled his empty cup in the air. “What’s the word?”

“Flawless?”

“That’s my boy!” Daehyun jumped up and bumped chests with Jongup. Moon Jongup. Another one of my friends. Great, I thought. Now the whole idiot brigade was here.

“Our Jonguppie has always been observant,” crowed Daehyun.

“She was on TV. That’s why everyone wants to get to know her."

“Oh? And how do _you_ know so much about her? Do you like her too?” Daehyun’s eyes lit up with malicious glee.

“No, hyung. I just listen to people instead of dismissing them.”

I almost cried with laughter. Jongup and I didn’t talk much, because Jongup didn’t talk much. He was a ballet dancer, silent and tactile by nature. Daehyun was the link between us, and they had a tacit bond I could not share. But I appreciated his sensitivity and trenchant comments. They were useful at times like these.

“Well, however it was you knew,” grumbled Daehyun. “It doesn’t change the fact that Youngjae will never get into her pants.”

{“ _Ooooooh_ , who’s _Youngjae_?” sang Sunhwa, mischievously. “What a suave-sounding, enticing name. Could he be … you?”

“Oh crap. I told you my name.”

Sunhwa giggled.

Youngjae folded his arms. “Now you have to tell me yours.”

"Nuh-uh. You didn’t want to know my name. You didn’t want to ‘spoil the mystery’. Now _you’ll_ have to live with the consequences.” She stuck out her tongue at him.

“Childish. Very childish, mystery lady. I see that I’ve spent my life accompanied by overgrown children. Such is my lot.”}

Well, anyway, as you can imagine, I didn't take to Daehyun's assertion very well. I was not a child any more, no longer a loser. And by God, I was going to get into this girl's pants if it killed me.

So after Daehyun left for his class, I very discretely probed Jongup for any information he had on her. What was her name? Which year was she in? What major? Was she in any university clubs? What were her hobbies? Were her lips as rosebuds and her hair silk and her breath life itself? Tell me, Jongup!

{“What was her name?”

"Will you be quiet and let me finish? Please!"}

So, as I was saying, after I battered him with my barrage of questions, poor Jongup patiently furnished me with all I needed to know. She was a fourth year business major. She was not in any university clubs. She had been on a talent show for singing, so presumably that was her hobby. But he had heard that she’d been so crushed by her elimination from the talent show, she had vowed never to sing again.

“But this is fate!” I exclaimed, shaking Jongup by the shoulders. “I wanted to be a singer too! And now here I am! Well it’s different because I actually placed first in my audition, but I told JYP to shove it because I liked computers too much. But it’s kind of the same. Hey, I could teach her singing!” I shook Jongup again. He was starting to look like a ragdoll, but I was in the throes of an idea and quite powerless to stop myself. “I’ll teach her singing, she’ll become good, she'll win the next competition, and who will she have to thank? Yours truly. Who will she fall in love with? Me.”

“Hyung, this has been the idea of every student here who could carry a tune."

“No.” I was devastated.

“Yes,” he said. “People fall for her like dominoes. It’s a disease. Kwanghee from second year. Changmin from third. Hyosung from fourth.”

“Jongup, three people hardly make up a ‘disease’."

“I’m just listing the names I know.” Jongup sighed. “There are many more. I’m not saying it won’t work if you try it, I’m just saying you’re not the first one. Maybe you’re better off doing something else.”

I was not completely discouraged by Jongup’s words. All I had to do was find an alternative plan of attack. I was a master of Starcraft, I reasoned. Formulating another stratagem should be child’s play. But gifted as I was, I was dogged by a habit most diabolical – analysis paralysis. By the time the weekend passed, “something else” had come to mean “give up Youngjae, it’s hopeless."

And there was something much more profound than a lack of ideas holding me back.

“Psst, Youngjae. Stats assignment.”

“What?” I picked my face up from the carpet. Were those tear-stains?

“I know you’ve been thinking very hard about this cheerleader chick,” said Daehyun. “But you’re Youngjae, so you’ve definitely done our Statistics assignment. Can I copy?”

I rubbed my eyes. Stats? Was it Monday? How had I landed up on the floor?

“In my bag,” I slurred. “Did it last week.”

“You’re a lifesaver. I forgive you for vomiting all over me last night.”

Vomit. My splitting headache. Oh God. Had I been drinking?

“By the way, I got what you said about singing lessons not working on her. And I got what you said about baking a cake not working because Changmin tried that, and a dozen roses not working because Kwanghee tried that. And I didn’t get what you said about Hyosung, because daaaaaayum, those two together? Hawt!"

“Your homophobia is so charming in the morning.”

“What homophobia? I love lesbians! Anyway, I didn’t catch the last thing you said either. The one you said was super duper important.”

“Oh.” It was important. “I’ve decided it would be wrong of me to like her, because … if so many people like her, then ... I’m not liking her for who she really is. I’m liking her because she's a pretty face with long legs. How would she feel about that? Maybe that’s the reason Kwanghee, Changmin and Hyosung failed. Not because of cakes, roses or singing. They didn’t like her for who she was."

I waited expectantly for his response. Daehyun was a turd in many ways: crass, prejudiced, unaware of his prejudices, with an ego that could deflate at the prick of a word. But we had stood together through every trial of childhood; when he was the kid seated at the front of the class, marked out and dogged by his learning disabilities, and I the teacher’s pet assigned to help him. From him I learnt that from the mouth of turds sometimes came great wisdom.

But he said nothing. He just put his hand on his hip and looked at me in that Daehyun way.

I knew what that look meant. It meant, _Liking girls for their personalities? What the fuck is wrong with you?_

“You’re right,” I said. “Crazy notion. I’m going after her.”

But by mid-week, I had talked myself out of it again. And Daehyun had impulsively decided to hop on a train back home till next week, having observed that “Our assignments are ungraded? Fuck that." I was stuck in my own little pity-party, at least for the time being.

It’s not so bad, being a lovelorn teenager. Your knowledge of depressing, humourless music explodes in a single night.

Thursday morning was not good. I’d had thirty minutes of sleep and a 9am class. I was a zombie. And zombie-like, I staggered through the hallway connecting the dorms and the lecture theatres.

“Hello!” a voice said. It was one of those people who stood by benches in this hallway trying to accost you into joining some club or becoming a research subject. It was not an audience I felt like entertaining at this time.

“Sorry,” I said, curtly. “I have to get to a lecture.”

“Which lecture?”

Was it really any of her business? “Advanced Coding in Java and Python”.

“You’re an IT major! Oh gosh, that’s perfect. Would you be interested in joining my research project? Not as a subject. I’m not one of those,” she added, hastily. “We’re looking at the viability tech start-ups have in Korea against the big companies. You know, like Samsung. My team is from the business school, and we need an IT expert on board at the last-minute. I hope you aren’t too busy with your final-year project.” She looked like she was really sad. “I’ve asked so many IT year fours already."

She looked like she was really sad. She looked liked she was ... wait a minute ...

“I don’t have a final-year project,” I said. Actually, I could barely hear my own voice over the chorus of angels singing in my head. “Because I’m a year one. It’s only my second semester.”

“You’re a year one? Why are you taking a year four module?"

“Advanced placement.” I shrugged, with enormous casualness.

“Wow,” she said. “I’ve heard of students taking year two classes with advanced placement credits. But not year four. Wow.”

“You’re right, it’s rare. But it happens sometimes. Of course, you have to be quite sharp, and motivated as well. And persuasive, because the high-school teachers are skeptical of a sixteen year-old’s ability to handle that sort of workload. But I persisted, in part because of my passion for learning, but also because I knew -"

:::

“Okay, okay I get it,” said Sunhwa. She’d heard enough. It was a sweet story, but that last part. Jesus. “She was sooooo impressed by your bigggggg brains."

“Yes! She was."

“Pretty sure she wasn’t that impressed.”

“Pretty sure she was."

“I don’t know, you’re making her sound like an airhead,” said Sunhwa, rolling her eyes. She put on her airhead voice. “ ‘Wowwwwwww. Wowwwwwww Youngjae. Geeeeeeeee. You’re so smart and I’m so stupid. Ohmahgawdddd.’ "

“I did no such thing.” Youngjae protested. “I never made her sound stupid. I only made myself sound smart!”

Sunhwa raised an eyebrow. “You took on a double major because of a girl. I don’t know how smart that is.”

“It's very smart.” Youngjae jabbed a finger in the air, towards her. “It’s smart because I got her in the end.”

“Oh my. Are you saying I’m on a date with a married man?” said Sunhwa, covering her mouth with her hand. “Is this exquisite girl going to be upset? Sounds dangerous. Her admirers may lynch me.”

“You shouldn't worry. I met her a long time ago.”

“Oh? So are you saying that you’re not with her anymore?”

“The only woman in my life right now is you,” Youngjae said, leaning over the table, "mystery lady." He gave her a wink.

Sunhwa mimed gagging. And she'd thought this pancake was greasy.

:::

“Why did you bring me here? Haven’t you found the key to happiness already? Since you stopped me in the middle of my story, I assume you have.”

“It didn’t seem worth the cab fare if we were just going to eat bad food. What’s the point of coming to the university area if we don’t go into the university?”

It was good to be back, Sunhwa thought, especially in the garden. This enclave of greenery had been Sunhwa’s favourite place on campus. It was just off the hallway connecting the dorms and the lecture theatres, right beside the main hub of activity. But you would never know it stepping inside. Suddenly the noise of the world fell away, leaving you with enough silence to hear your own thoughts. Everyone knew about this little getaway. And thankfully, though decades had passed, no one had dared encroach on its sacredness.

“Anyway, your story gave me an idea. It made me think that maybe, if I told you about my youth, I could figure out how I got where I am now. Maybe I could figure a way out of this mid-life crisis."

Sunhwa sat down beside the statue of a mother and child playing. The little stone seat was worn, but no more than it had been when she was a student. It was hidden behind a trellis of vines, making it the most secluded spot in the secret garden.

“This was our meeting place. Me and my friends. I had a great bunch of friends. Hana, Jieun, and my best friend, Hyosung. They had been kind to me when I needed it most. I first came to Seoul in high school, transferring in shame – well, not shame, exactly. But I’d lost all my friends in Busan. I had been on a talent competition on national TV, but I was eliminated because I have no talent."

“Don’t be so hard on yourself.” Youngjae patted her hand. “People just said discouraging things to you. Just like they said to that girl I liked."

“What a coincidence,” said Sunhwa, archly. “Anyway, the ironic thing was, when I went back home, people thought I had become a trainee. If only! But for all its untruth, that rumour had a devastating impact on my social life.

" 'That Sunhwa, she thinks she’s a celebrity.' 'Han Sunhwa, so stuck up now she’s famous.' I guess it must have seemed that way more and more, because I began to isolate myself. I already had a shy streak, and the rumours just made it worse. Sometimes I thought I could hear people whispering bad things about me. Sometimes I thought I was going nuts.

"The last straw came when my mum realised I was crying every night. She transferred me to a high school in Seoul. I think she felt guilty – the desire to be a singer had been bred into me because she had filled our home with music. She had wanted become a singer herself. I think she feared she had imposed her unborn dreams onto me.

“Anyway, I thought moving to Seoul was useless – if people had seen the broadcast in Busan, what more in the capital? But Mum was right. Me being on TV had a totally different meaning here. Everyone wanted to know me. Suddenly, I was the most popular girl in school."

Youngjae blurted a laugh he had obviously been holding in. _Rude_ , thought Sunhwa.

“Sunhwa,” he explained, holding his hands up in pre-emptive surrender. “Your name is Han Sunhwa.”

“No!” So that was the reason for his inconsideration. Sunhwa rained fists on Youngjae’s chest. “Unhear it!”

All Youngjae did was laugh like a horse and sing “Han Sunhwa, Han Sunhwa,” over and over again, swatting her blows away.

“You’re terrible. I'm just going to ignore you,” she whined. “So, you’d think my problems were solved, right? But they weren’t. It wasn’t long before I realised that none of them really wanted to know me. All they wanted was to bask in some reflected glory they thought I had. I was surrounded by people, but I was the loneliest girl in the world.”

Youngjae had grown quiet again. “That sounds difficult. I’m sorry.”

“It was. But there's a happy ending. About four months into term, Jun Hyosung blew into my life.”

:::

“You! You with the gloomy face!”

People could be so inconsiderate, I thought. Yelling in the library. I shut my book and stood up to tell her off. If everyone was determined to be my sycophant, there was no harm in making one enemy.

I was unprepared for the face that was shoved right up to mine. Her eyes were small. But they were bright and determined.

“You!” She repeated. Her face dropped three inches toward the floor. I looked down. She had been standing on her tip-toes. “You look so sad all the time. This is not working out.” Without another word, she grabbed me by the hand and marched me toward the library door.

“Working out for who?” I wondered aloud. There was no malice in the remark. I was just confused.

“You, duh. But not for me either. No one’s gonna be this sad, not under my watch.” She flashed a smile over her shoulder and steered us, deft and quick, between the library tables. I knocked my hips against several desks before figuring out that way to stay safe was to follow close behind her. Although she was stocky, she moved with fluid grace. I felt I was just awkward limbs next to her.

We were soon standing outside the library entrance. Waiting for us were two other girls. At least, I guessed they were waiting for us, because one of those girls’ eyes were so wide and expectant. She looked like a doll with those huge eyes and full cheeks. The other girl was just the opposite. She was in hip-hop clothing and stood with her arms crossed and a challenging air. She had a mature face, as if she should be in college already.

“I’ve brought her here,” the first girl announced, radiantly. “Now we’re gonna make friends.”

“Is she as stuck-up as she looks?” said the hip-hop girl. Her arms remained crossed as she looked me up and down. “I don’t make friends with arrogant people.”

“Hana,” the girl with big eyes chided. She turned them onto me with interest. “I heard you were on a singing competition. I love to sing.”

“I was,” I said, warily. I wondered if she would ask if me to get her an audition with JYP. Was this what this whole set-up was about? If so, they were wasting their time. “It was a very long time ago. I’ve lost touch with the people on the show.”

“Oh, of course! I’d be crushed if I didn’t make it through too. Not that I want to remind you about that,” she added, hastily. “I’m just trying to say … I know the idol industry is tough. I was with JYP as a kid. They offered me an idol contract eventually, but I turned it down. It’s not the life for me. I’m going to be a music teacher instead.”

She was the first person I’d met who’d turned down a contract. I couldn’t help but feel envy. What was it like to have that privilege? I couldn’t begin to imagine.

“Did you hear what she said?” the hip-hop girl asked. “Jieun’s not trying to suck up to you. She has nothing to gain. Not everyone’s trying to be your little fangirl.”

“Alright, that’s enough.” The first girl, the one with more determination than should be seen in a high schooler, took our hands in hers. “She’s not stuck up. She’s just lonely and misunderstood. But we’ll help her with that. We’ll be her friends.”

“How do you know I’m lonely and misunderstood? We don't know each other.”

“I have a good sense about people.” Hyosung looked me straight in the eye. “I know you’re lonely. And I know we’re gonna be friends."

I don’t know what it is about Hyosung, but what she said came true. I don’t know if she’s as perceptive as she claims, or if she just makes things happen. Whatever it was, those girls became my closest friends. The ones who knew my heart. But none more so than Hyosung.

:::

“Sounds like she changed your life,” Youngjae said. “Those girls meant a lot to you, huh?”

“Yeah. The year Hyosung stopped talking to me was one of the worst I'd ever had. And I’ve been through some shitty years."

:::

“I can’t believe this happened. It’s been six years since that stupid TV show.”

“It was broadcast nation-wide, Sunhwa. That’s a big deal.” Hana had always been matter-of-fact.

“I know, I know. We’ve gone through this. I’m just sick of believing people sincerely want to be my friend, then getting disappointed.” The latest was a year one student who had come up to me in the hallway. I’d learnt to be wary of people approaching me, but he seemed different. It had been a great three months. But then I overheard him bragging that he was dating someone who'd been on TV.

I had been tempted to yell at him and embarrass him in front of his friends. But I folded my hurt up and stopped replying to his messages instead. It had been one too many. I spent that week holed up in my dorm, losing myself in books about pirates and mermaids and adventures, until Hana and Jieun came to haul me out.

It was a return to my bad habits, I knew. Not that reading was bad. Avoiding the world was. Hyosung would never have let that go on. We used to share that dorm room, but she moved out after ... well. The incident. Rumour had it that she was bunking out in the city centre with a foreign senior named Gina Jane. It sounded glamorous. Hyosung had always been a little glamourous, a little more worldly than the rest of us.

“If this is about friends and not boyfriends, you have us,” said Jieun, in her sweet voice.

“Yes, but … it’s not that I don’t love you girls,” I said, rubbing my temples. I hadn’t managed to sleep much. “But I don’t think I would be so affected if Hyosung were around.”

“She’s _around_ , she just …” Jieun looked uncomfortable. “She’ll be back, we're working on it. Don’t worry, Sunhwa."

“I know you are. And I’m grateful. But it’s been almost half a year ... She’ll never speak to me again.”

“Love takes time,” said Hana sagely, “To heal when you’ve hurt it so much.”

“Have I, Hana? I've hurt her, haven’t I?” I could beat myself down at the best of times; sleep deprivation just made it worse. But I thought the punishment appropriate to the crime. I had really screwed up with Hyosung. “How was I such an oblivious moron? I should have seen it coming." I put my head in my hands. "And I could have let her down easier. I could have chosen better words.”

“Now look what you’ve done, Hana! That was the wrong song to use.” Jieun patted my back. “Sunhwa, stop saying that. You were taken by surprise. And from what Hyosung told us, she was the one who could have chosen better words. She always asks us to tell you she’s sorry."

“And I’m sorry too ... I messed up,” Hana said. “But don’t give up hope. It’s just taking awhile because the bond you have is so strong. That’s why she’s hurting so much. That bond will bring her back in time, you’ll see.”

“I hope you’re right.” Despite my words, I felt no optimism. It had been a nasty way to part. I had no doubt Hyosung meant what she said to Jieun – she had never been mean to me before that day. That was not Hyo at all, it had been the hurt talking.

Nonetheless, we had only a semester left to graduation, and Hyosung was an all-or-nothing, do-or-die person. If she said she was leaving the country, she was leaving. She could also be prideful. I doubted we would patch things up before year-end. And after that? Poof. Oceans between us. It was pointless.

“I hope so too … okay, dear. Secret garden time’s over. You’ve had your moping, now you need to move on.” Jieun hooked her arms under mine and dragged me off the stone seat. Hyosung had been the one to do these things for us. In the time she’d been gone, we had stepped up for each other admirably. “Don’t you have to solve your final-year project problem?”

“Tomorrow,” I said, waving her off. “I have a headache. Besides, there’s a year four IT lecture at 9am tomorrow. Perfect time to poach those brains.”

:::

“Your final-year project needed an IT major too? And a year four as well.” Youngjae rubbed his chin playfully. “Curious.”

“I believe this is the time,” said Sunhwa, “You would tell me to ‘shush’. Be quiet, I need to tell you about this IT major I found."

:::

“Hana! Jieun!” I had started running toward them the minute I saw them. “To the garden! Come on, it’s secret time.”

I could barely wait till we got behind the trellis. I think Jieun and Hana could sense how excited I was.

“I haven’t seen you this happy since Hyosung stopped hanging out with us. What happened?"

“No wait, let me guess.” Hana grinned mischievously, in a way that you wouldn’t think she would if you didn’t know her. "Sunhwa’s fallen in love again.”

“Sunhwa!” Jieun’s mouth fell open. She took my hand. “You were so upset about that guy. Is this true? There’s someone new?”

“Nah, she wasn’t that into him. There’s been worse.” Hana grinned a sly grin. “This one’s worse.”

“Oh, Jieun, Hana!” I swooned. “You had to be there!” I put my hands over my heart and twirled, landing my bum on the stone seat. It hurt, but I didn’t care. “He was _magnificent_.”

“Tell us, tell us!” squealed Jieun. She leapt onto the seat too, and Hana bounced in on the other side. I was squashed between them, the three of us forming a gaggle of giggles. “He was doing something. Was he singing?”

“Dancing?”

“Playing a sport? Soccer!”

“Rapping!"

“He was giving a presentation on Javascript programming,” I said, dreamily. I could see him in my mind’s eye. _Magnificent._

Their faces fell.

“We should have known better,” muttered Hana. “Sunhwa’s always gone for strange men.”

“That passion, Hana!” I said gripping her by her suspenders. “That purpose. That fire in his eyes. Do you know what it's like to be near such fire? Oh, how I imagined those eyes were on me.” I closed my eyes and ran my fingers dramatically down my neck. “Those hands.”

“Okay, stop touching yourself in public,” said Hana. She swatted my hands away from myself. “And stop reading romance novels. Is this that IT guy in your research group?”

“It’s not my fault I like to read, okay? I can’t read great literature all the time. Everyone needs some trash. And yes, Hana. It's that guy. And yes, I have decided."I stood up on the stone seat and struck a pose: hands on my hips and my chin up in the air, like the adventurer I’d always dreamed of being my books. "I’m going after him.”

The girls whooped and cheered. The garden shook with our happiness.

:::

Youngjae whistled with what was somehow a combination of feigned innocence and immense self-satisfaction. "Well look at that. You were impressed."

Sunhwa rolled her eyes and smiled. “Yes I was."

"Don't let me interrupt your story now. I want to hear more about this dashing IT major."

"No."

"What do you mean, 'no'?"

"I've talked so much. I'm tired! I think you should tell me stories. I want to know what happened to you and the," Sunhwa ahem-ed, "attractive business major fate brought you to. About how you understood her true heart. And how you rescued her from misunderstanding and lonesomeness, when all was lost."

"Wow," said Youngjae. "Hana was right. You read too many romance novels."

"But I love stories.” Sunhwa scooched closer and put her arm through his. "Which is why you should tell me yours. Please? Or I’ll pout."

“Juvenile. Completely juvenile,” said Youngjae, fighting the smile on his face. “Okay."

:::

"I don't fucking believe you."

"Believe it, my friend!" I slapped Daehyun's back smugly. It had been a terrific week. Fate had not only arranged a chance meeting with the girl of my dreams, it had also made me useful to her. In one night, I had put together a brilliant presentation that had, I dared say, impressed her. And now she was asking to discuss the project. Alone. Not with the whole group! Alone. Things were on the up and up.

"I skip school for five days and the world turns upside down. Fuck me."

"The world has not turned upside down," I lectured. " _Your_ world, Daehyun, has turned upside down, because _your_ world is composed in black and white instead of the colours you would see if you opened your mind. There is no reason why a ‘popular’ girl like her shouldn't go out with a, what you like to call, a 'nerd' like me,” I said, making air-quotes. “Anyhow, I have to go. I need to get ready for my date."

Daehyun sat up from his sprawled position and looked at me with hooded eyes. I never knew where his energy went, since he never seemed to invest it anywhere. I wondered where the feisty kid I knew had gone.

The first time our bullies had cornered us was still vivid in my mind. It was not a scene I would easily forget. For all my classroom smugness had evaporated into the damp air of that grade school toilet, leaving me cowering and shamefaced on the floor. But Daehyun had come alive in a way I had never seen before. With no fighting experience, he stuck up for us with just his fists and ferocity.

We would slowly come to realise, however, that our society valued my skills more than his. And having to stay back in the special education resource room, there was no time for Daehyun to be the sportsman he could have been. Over the years I had watched the light in his eyes go out. I was his first helper – I wondered if I had failed him, somewhere along the line.

"Are you sure it's a date?" he said, snapping me out of my meditation. "Sounds like a project meeting to me. Maybe the other guys couldn't make it. Don't roll in there like an asshole, asshole. Girls hate it when you assume they were hitting on you."

"What would you know about what girls like? I don't see any around you. Besides, opportunities are what you make of them." I nodded my head as if I could nod the past out of it. I didn't like to dwell on insoluble problems. They made me uncomfortable. I started thinking about the ideas I could pitch to my dream girl instead. "Even if it's not a date, it's one step closer to getting to know her better. And getting to know her better is one step closer to love."

:::

The central and most curious feature about teenage confidence is its fragility. By nighttime, my nerves were beginning to buzz. I was waiting for her in the hallway, tapping my pen on my folder. I had arrived at our meeting place early. I had run through my pitch several times. I had even wondered, idly, if I should have done what I'd seen in movies and borrowed cologne. But I didn't know who from. Personal grooming was not a conversation I'd had with Jongup nor a thing Daehyun had heard of. I didn't know what else to do.

It was then that saw her coming through the crowd. It was the proverbial Red Sea. Heads turned as she walked, glossy hair bouncing, in what appeared to me to be slow motion. The planes of her face were striking – her cheekbones high and her nose proud and aquiline. Her skin was so translucent it resembled marble. You could tell why she had been on television.

As Daehyun would say, what the fuck was I doing? She was _completely_ out of my –

Enough, Youngjae. None of that from you.

“Hi,” she said, a little breathless. “Sorry I’m late.” She was running her hands over her dress, smoothing nonexistent wrinkles. I wished she would stop doing that. It was distracting. That and her breathlessness. So very distracting. “I’m not good with schedules. My friends call me a daydreamer.”

“Um,” I said, intelligently.

“We should go,” she continued, moving close to me and pulling my elbow. “The food I’ve prepared is getting cold.”

“Food? You’ve prepared?”

“Yes,” she said, as if it were the most natural thing in the world to cook for a project meeting. She was steering me toward one of the doors that lined the hallway and arching an eyebrow at me. “You eat, right? You don’t live on the fresh smell of ambition in the morning?”

Stunning and perceptive. I was hooked.

:::

“I love to cook,” she said, lying in the grass. The food was finished and not a single word about the project had passed our lips. "And I could care less about my stupid major. Sometimes I feel like I’m setting women back twenty years.”

“That’s not so unusual. Lots of students don’t know what they want to pursue in their career. Lots of adults don’t know either. You just haven’t found something you like doing.”

“I did.” A gleam came to her eyes. But like a spark in the wind, it was soon extinguished. “That’s over now.”

Oh, this. I straightened up and coughed. “Well, I could teach you singing … "

“What have you heard about me?”

I was taken aback. Her whole demeanour had changed. Where she was once soft and inviting, she was now watchful and sharp.

“Um, not much.” The night had been going so well. What just happened? I struggled to understand. “Just that you were on a singing competition …”

“Oh? And you think I’ll fall for you if you teach me to breathe from my diaphragm?”

I swallowed. Her crisp features could arrange themselves into a terrifying shape. “I … I admit it crossed my mind …"

She began to pack up the food containers. She didn’t say another word, just packed them.

“Wait.” I was beginning to panic. My stupid friends had been right. The singing thing doesn’t work, and don’t assume things about girls. How had they known? Had they been with girls when I wasn't looking? “That was my first idea, but I decided against it. Because … because I thought it wouldn’t be fair to you."

She stopped packing. I continued.

“I mean … you’re very beautiful. But I’m sure you’ve heard that a million times before. And people know you were eliminated from that singing competition, so obviously, obviously they’d try that." I felt like my talking was the only thing holding back this wave of distrust that had crashed ashore. “But I, I just thought these people wouldn’t know you! I mean, how awful must it be to have people only see your face ... not who you are inside?"

Her expression softened, a bit. I had always been a talker. Boy was I glad for that now.

“I’m sorry,” she said, finally. She closed the lid on the thermos bag she had been packing the containers into. I sighed with relief. What Mum always said was right. Telling the truth rarely hurts. “It’s been a bad month.”

I didn’t know what to say. It had been a wonderful month for me. “Oh?”

“Yeah … my best friend stopped talking to me and some guy turned out to be an asshole. Not you,” she added. She looked around the garden pensively. “People are difficult. Life is difficult.” She looked at me out of the corner of her eye. “Can you sing? I don’t mean ‘happy birthday’ at your kid sister's party. Can you actually sing?"

"Um,” I said, scratching my head. I didn’t think now was the time to bring up my successful audition. “I guess so …”

She brought her legs up so that she was cross-legged on the stone seat, facing me directly. “Sing.”

“Pardon?”

“Sing for me.”

I did. By the end of my song, she was glowing. “You’re good. Super good. As good as my friend Jieun. Did you ever think of becoming an idol?”

“Yeah. But I gave up. I prefer working with computers. And …” I wondered if I should admit this. I rarely admitted it even to myself. But it seemed she had a thing for honesty. "I don’t look like an idol.”

“That’s what Jieun says! And Hana, my other friend. God, you three are like peas in a pod.” She crossed her arms and leaned back on the statue. “You all look fine to me. And if other people didn’t think so, that would be fine too. There are personal trainers and plastic surgeons. Looks are something you can alter. You can't buy talent."

“Sure, you can’t buy it. But you can work on it.” This was something I deeply believed in.

“I have worked on it. Didn't do me a lot of good.”

“Okay, but there are other things you can do.” I was thinking very hard. “You like to read, right? Can't you become an author? Or cooking. You could be a chef.”

“Nonsense occupations. My father called them ‘nonsense occupations’. He'd already let me go on that talent show after Mum and I begged and begged. There wasn't going to be anymore mucking around. I had to go to school and get a respectable career.” She held up her hand and ticked off fingers one by one. “Doctor. Lawyer. Civil servant. Working in a bank. There isn’t any space left for my dreams."

She paused. "There is one dream I have which both my parents approve of, though. I really want to be a mother.” Her face lit up gently, like a candle. She turned to the statue of the mother and child we were sitting beside. “I always come here when I’m lonely. Just look at them. Don’t they look happy?"

“You know … you remind me of someone. Not completely. Just in some ways.” They were important ways, though. “Except you still have one dream left.” It was not an pleasant realisation to have. It made me wonder if I was drawn to a certain kind of person. But if that was a fate I couldn’t avoid ... Maybe I could make the best of it. Maybe I wouldn’t fail her.

“Yeah? Who?”

“My best friend.”

“You remind me of my best friend too! That is, she used to be my best friend.” Her face fell again, very slightly, but then she gave me a shy smile. “She was driven, like you. And she was the only person ever to like me for who I am. I was so torn up when I couldn’t love her back. But now there’s you too.”

She ducked her head after she said that, trying to hide her face by looking back at the statue. As for me ... I’d always assumed I’d have children one day. Not with the kind of yearning she had, but just because having children was what adults did. As I looked at the smile on her face that day however, something in that attitude changed. I vowed that, fate willing, I would be the one to make her that happy.

So we dated.

We got married. The whole white wedding, for it was one of her many daydreams. I didn’t mind. It’s a shameful thing to admit, but as I stood there in front of family and friends, this picture-perfect bride at my side – I thought I had arrived in life. If only my grade school bullies could see me now.

It was fun, those first few years. Just the two of us. We were starting our careers and had a house to pay off, but everything seemed so carefree. We spent every moment we could together. Some of my happiest memories were of just being at home with her.

“What are we going to do this weekend?”

“I don’t know.” I pottered around the kitchen, cleaning up after our breakfast. “Stay at home? Have a lazy Sunday?”

“Sounds good to me.” She yawned and stretched. “Stay here and clean up like a good boy. I’ll be right back."

I mimed throwing my dishcloth at her, but I continued washing up. After awhile, I heard a delicate cough by the kitchen doorway. I looked up.

This woman I married, who liked nothing better than to lie around in worn t-shirts and shorts, was now in red lingerie. With stocking and garters. I snaked my eyes up her creamy legs, savouring the way the bands of her stockings pinched ever so slightly into her thighs, the way her corset pushed her breasts up at me. I wanted to dig my fingers into the meat on her hips, to bruise and own them.

“Lazy Sundays should be spent in bed.” She crooked her finger at me. “Don’t you agree?”

If only my grade school bullies could see me now.

:::

Another picnic on another day, this time in one of the big parks that dotted Seoul. It was very different from the beloved secret garden of our university years. The park had wide open spaces, blinding sunshine and crowds of families instead of shaded intimacy. But what was constant was her delicious food, and her. Complex, playful, intelligent, charming, irreplaceable her.

She was lying on her stomach in the sun, reading a storybook. As she was, about ninety-percent of the time. Her feet kicked about lazily in the air.

“Do you know what’s something I wish I could have done, Youngjae?”

“What?”

“Opened a book cafe. Like the character in this story.” She pointed at the pages. “Don’t you think it would be a good fit for me? I could bake cakes for the cafe, and I could introduce my customers to the books I love. I can think of about a hundred titles I would put on its shelves.”

“It’s a good fit.” I had suggested being an author or a chef to her before, but this was an idea better than mine. It combined her two passions perfectly. “But why do you wish you _could_ have done it? Why can’t you do it? Honey, you have a degree in Business. Is this still about your parents?”

“It’s not that. Well, it’s partly that, but it’s not the main thing. I just think it’s risky.” She frowned. “My job pays so well. Look at our peers, is anyone earning what I am? I hit the jackpot, landing this straight out of university. I’d be a fool to give it up.”

“But what’s the use of earning all that money if you don’t love what you do?” This was not the first time the thought had occurred to me. I often tried to put myself in her shoes, going every morning to a job she was ambivalent about. But I couldn't conceive it. I had to love my work with every cell in my body. “Money doesn’t make people happy. Not in the long run.”

“I keep telling you. It’s a means to an end.” She pushed up her sunhat to look at me. “I’ll work on one of these idle dreams when we have a large enough nest egg for our children. And it needs to be a pretty large nest egg. We said we'd have at least three.”

"And I agree with that! We have to save. But lots of families get by with less than what you earn alone. We can be frugal ... I always think our friends spend excessively. Louis Vuitton and Prada, who needs those?”

“Youngjae, we’ve been through this. Even if they don’t spend on luxury goods ... those families you talk about. Do they give their children the best?” She looked at me, quite intensely. “The best they can give, maybe, but if I quit this job to set up a cafe I don’t even know will succeed ... I wouldn’t be able to sleep, knowing _I_ didn’t give my children _my_ best. Maybe you can live with that thought, that’s your prerogative.” She pushed down the brim of her hat again and got back to reading her book.

I felt unfairly chastised. “Hey, it’s not like I don’t want the best for our future children too.”

She put down her book, as if with great forbearance.

“I wasn’t trying to say that. Youngjae, I _like_ your passion for work. It was the thing that first attracted me to you. But you have to understand, our dreams are different. I have wanted to raise children since … well, since I can remember.” She sat up and looked me at me levelly. “I don’t think what you believe is wrong. If you wanted to start a business while our kids were young, I’d support that. It’s just something I couldn’t do.”

With that, she flopped back down on her stomach. I could tell something was wrong, though. Something tense was in the air. And the pages of her book weren’t turning.

“Hey.” I got down on my front and nudged her arm. “Hey. I’ve upset you.”

She sniffed. It was barely audible, but she had. “It's not you. I was just reminded of something Hyosung said.” She looked up at me with red eyes. “Do you think I’m this ... picture-perfect, feminine ... subservient Korean woman?”

“What? You?” I didn't know who she'd been serving, but it wasn't me. If it was, I wouldn't have to clean the house everyday. Haha, kidding.

But had Hyosung told her that? The way my wife described her once best-friend … I hadn’t been around when they knew each other, but it seemed out of character. I tried to smile nonetheless, hoping to cheer her up.

“I don’t know who she is, this perfect, obedient woman of Confucius’ wet dreams. But she sounds boring. So she’s definitely not you.”

“I don’t know.” Her eyes were still red. “I know I told you before but … I like to cook, I’m not really interested in my work, all I want is kids … Sometimes like I feel like I’m a sitcom character. Someone's dull, meek old mum.” She took a deep breath. “Hyosung was different. She was going to be a powerful woman.”

“You’re different people, dear. The world is full of different people. There’s nothing wrong with loving children.” I was no expert on feminist theory, but that struck me as fundamentally right, somehow. “Politics isn’t my area. But I’ve always believed people should be free to achieve what they want in life. If you want to be a career woman who never touched a frypan? Great, because that’s what you want. If you want to be a mum who cooks to feed an army? Great, because that’s what you want. I could be wrong, but isn’t that what feminism’s about? Choice? Freedom? Certainly it doesn’t seem to call for cramming yourself into some mould of a modern woman. That's like being shackled in reverse."

“Whoa, whoa there,” she said, a small smile appearing on her face. “Didn’t know I married a male feminist.”

“I mean, look, don’t quote me on this. This is just what I understand from Wikipedia.” It was true. “And who says men can’t be feminists? Why should that be something to comment upon? Why should it be unusual?”

She looked at me with a blissful smile on her face. “You know, Youngjae, you’re half the reason I want kids so badly.”

Me? Half the reason? It didn’t seem right. “No, you said you wanted kids since you could remember. If you only have memories from your early twenties onward, I think you need a brain scan.”

“You are _full_ of nonsense." She whipped off her book from the picnic mat and smacked my head with it. Ow. “Of course I wanted kids before I met you. But you’re …” her voice trailed off. She laughed unsurely. “You’d think with all the books I read, I could find fancy words. But I hope you know what I mean when I say: you’re a great guy. I hope you know how much I mean it. You make me want to have a family with you.”

I had been complimented before: on my brains, my grades, my presentations. But this was a compliment of a different class. I wasn’t sure I deserved it; in fact, I was certain I did not. And yet, I felt something swell in my heart, so warm and big I thought I would burst.

Married life had its ups and downs, I mused. But on the whole, it was great.

:::

But just four years later, it was not so great. To be honest, I didn’t notice at first. My first job was in the software department of one of the chaebols. I'd started out with great drive, working on projects day and night, tackling every task with enthusiasm. But I was getting increasingly frustrated. There were many features of our products that, to me, were both not user-friendly _and_ easily fixed. But the bosses didn't listen to my suggestions. After a few years of this carousel, I had concluded that the company was a fossil.

“You can’t expect flexibility from a place like this, Youngjae,” a colleague counselled me. His name was Himchan – a relative of the company’s owner, but without airs. I’d been drawn to him from the start. He seemed to know things about the world that I, for all my obsession with knowledge, had somehow overlooked. “It’s big. It’s been around for generations. We’re good at preserving, we’re not good at adapting.”

“I know, and that’s great for our other industries. But this is technology. It moves. And if I had the space to work on this idea, we would move with it.”

“I shouldn’t be saying this.” Himchan looked around, as if security cameras might be following him. He bent forward and whispered. “Have you ever thought about who you are, and what this company is? Think about it, Youngjae. You’re restless. Not just now I mean, by nature. Look around you.” He shifted his eyes around us without moving his head. I looked with him. I saw an office with grey walls and cubicles. People in suits. I was in a suit too. But I thought I was different.

He whispered again. “Does this look like a place for restlessness?”

Himchan's words continued to whisper in my head throughout lunch break. When I came back to my desk, I found a newspaper clipping on it.

 _Start-up industries rising in Korea. Chaebols challenged?_ said the headline.

I picked it up, curious. A bright yellow post-it that was stuck on its underside fluttered down to my table. On it was written in thick black marker: “Shhhhh … :)"

I knew what Himchan was getting at. I was excited. The more I thought about it, the more feasible it seemed – I knew something about business, and I had an idea, if not many. I couldn’t focus on work that afternoon. I wanted to run home and tell my wife all about it. I discussed everything with her, my hopes and dreams. She was as sharp as a whip. I was confident that we could work out a good plan.

But when I got home, she was sitting at the dinner table with a haunted look. A small strip of paper lay in front of her.

“It’s negative again.” She looked at me with empty eyes. “It’s been four years. We haven’t used any protection. Do you think … ?” Her voice trailed off into a whisper. “Should we worry?”

I hadn’t the faintest clue about these things. But I was good at looking information up.

We were at the doctor’s that weekend. They ran tests, but they couldn’t find out why we were infertile. That was not uncommon, they reassured us – causes were unknown in about a third of couples. Perhaps we could consider fertility treatments or adoption?

“Fertility treatments,” said Sunhwa, with no hesitation. “I want my children to be _mine_ , and I want to carry them to term.”

I hadn’t had the chance to tell her that I was thinking of leaving my stable, decent-paying job for what could be years of low income, longer hours, and possibly investing some of our savings. I was no idiot. I’d done my research. IVF was expensive and emotionally draining.

But what kind of monster expresses his doubts about fertility treatments because he wants to start a business? Especially with all the discussions on the subject we’d had before. I felt I was damned if I was honest and damned if I wasn’t.

“It’ll be difficult, but we can do it. Good decision.” I smiled – tightly – and nodded.

That was the first time I kept my feelings from her.

:::

“You’re telling sad stories. Why? Tonight is supposed to be fun.”

“What’s wrong with sad stories? They’re part of life. You want to understand how you got into a slump, didn’t you? Don’t you need to tell your sad stories to realise how you got here?”

“I already told you. About how my first dream in life was dashed, how I didn’t have friends in two high schools, how my best friend stopped talking to me. What more do you want?”

“But that was before graduation. I know my sad stories from after then. I need to know more about yours.”

:::

The bizarre thing about fertility clinics is that they operate like a cult of secrecy. They called names out in the waiting room, and sometimes you would hear a name you recognised. A friend of a friend. A girl in one of your high school classes. Your husband’s colleague. Sometimes a mild fear, one that I knew was silly, would grip around my heart – someone would know my name from that TV show. But so what? I told myself. I told myself that until we ran into that girl from my high school class, coming out of the doctor’s office.

“Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone,” she said. She put a finger to her lips and smiled reassuringly, as if the two of us were part of a conspiracy. I went into the room wondering why it had to be a secret.

I soon knew why. When you are a mother, your body is not your own. I knew that, and looked forward to giving up my body to create life. What I didn’t expect was, long before I could see that opportunity on the horizon, my body and what I chose to do with it would be put up for comment by all.

Women nowadays, you work too much. You need to relax. Have you tried acupuncture? How about these herbs? You shouldn’t eat too much chicken, it's _chock-full_ of hormones nowadays. You’re not having enough sex, right? This is God’s way of telling you you’re not pleasing your husband. You’re so skinny, Sunhwa, your body can’t handle a baby! You need to eat more! What, you stick yourself with a 3 mm, 22-gauge needle everyday? Isn’t that unhealthy? Shouldn't you try more natural ways first?

As if I wasn’t trying hard enough.

I wasn’t just trying hard to have a baby. I was trying hard at work too, to cover the 12,000,000 won each treatment cycle cost. We had gone through a few by now. My husband couldn’t contribute much at the moment, but that was okay. I wanted to support his dreams. It wasn’t so bad overall. For the first time, I felt motivated to do well in the office.

And I was trying hard at my marriage. It wasn’t about the money at all.

“He shot down my idea. But that’s just _fine_.” My husband had just come in – no, strode briskly into the house and dumped his bag onto the sofa. He pulled his sweater over his head with equal brusqueness. “What’s not fine is that he told me didn’t feel confident funding the venture because it felt like I should be in the _backroom writing code, not fronting it_. Where does he get off saying that?"

I had become no stranger to unsolicited comments. Well, I never was, to be honest. I had just become more resigned. “He’s an idiot. You don’t have to listen to him.” I reached my arms out. “Come here. Someone annoyed me at work today too."

He came over and gave me a hug. And then my arms were empty. I blinked.

He was taking his bag from the sofa. “Meeting another potential investor tomorrow. Looks like a long night.” He walked past me toward our study.

I looked at the view of his back, walking away from me. It had become a familiar sight. He felt far away. Far away ... as if he were standing across a tundra. The ground was cracked. The wind was blowing, and the snow was obscuring my vision. I couldn't go to him.

:::

And so we plowed on. The fourth cycle did not work. Neither did the fifth. There was a black period in between the fifth and the eighth cycle when I got, actually, physically sick. Evenings were spent with my head over the toilet bowl and my husband holding my hair out of the way.

Every weekend was spent at the doctor’s. In that black period, I lost contact with Jieun and Hana. And yet, in that sick way, I was happy I didn’t have the time to see them. Now a cloud of envy descended upon me whenever I saw them bouncing their children on their knee.

“It’s the hormones,” the doctors said, reassuringly. “They cause mood swings.”

Knowing they came from the barrel of a syringe didn’t make the mood swings any less real.

At the end of the eighth cycle, we put our foot down and changed clinics. When the effects of those bad hormones lifted, I was struck by the realisation that I had returned to my bad habits. Even well evenings were spent alone in my room, behind the pages of a book. My husband was no help in this regard. He didn't see much wrong with it – apparently, he hadn't spoken to his best friend in years. I would see the unanswered calls on our phone from time to time. Sometimes I wondered if I should say something. He looked happy enough, in the company of his colleagues. It wasn’t surprising given how successful they'd become.

I was not, however, happy enough with my friends from work. They were okay. But they weren’t the girls of the secret garden. That night, I picked up the phone and dialled Hana's number.

"Where have you been, you moron?"

It was good to hear Hana call me a moron again.

I was on my twelfth cycle and sitting with her and Jieun in my living room. Their kids were running around us, far too big to be bouncing on anyone’s knee. I felt envious, but not in the overwhelming way I had when I was on the bad stuff. I had become used to this low-level sourness, swimming always in my stomach like a stale soup.

Something was different that afternoon, however. I was envious. That had not changed. I was tired. That was nothing new either. But I saw, that day, that my exhaustion had finally come to outweigh my envy.

:::

"Let's stop."

He looked up from his folder, over his glasses. "What?"

"Let's stop. I'm sick of trying. I'm sick of everything." I threw my hands in the air, as if offering this final outcome to fate. "I give up."

"Oh, honey." He came over and hugged me. "Are you sure? It's tiring. I know it's tiring, much, much more on you than it is on me. But do you want to give the decision some time? It’s a big one."

"No. I think I knew it awhile ago. I just hadn’t realised.” I put my head on his shoulder and let out a long breath. I closed my eyes. “I’m sorry this is so unilateral. Just like how I started us on this circus in the first place. They’re your children too.” I still regretted how I had went about that, looking back.

“Don’t be stupid.” He kissed the top of my head. “They’re my children too, but it’s your body that's taken the beating. I can’t pretend I’m not sad, but …” He bit his lip and looked wistfully out the window, at the sky. “If it’s time, it’s time.”

We held each other and cried ourselves to sleep that night. For many nights after, too.

:::

"Come here.” Youngjae held his arms out. Sunhwa went to him, and she didn’t walk away.

"Do you know what makes me even more sorry than your poor, sad husband who wasn’t there when you needed him?" Youngjae murmured into her hair.

"No," she said. Sunhwa wished he wouldn't use those words. "Poor". "Sad". “Wasn’t there”. He had been there. He had gone with her to the clinic every time, had held her head over that godforsaken toilet bowl for a year. Granted, he had not been fully present every single moment she wanted him to be, nor to the extent that she wished for, sometimes. But of course he wasn’t. He was human. They both were.

"It makes me sorry that you couldn't tell me without ... pretending."

She picked her head up from his chest. Oh.

"I guess our little make-believe is over?" she said, after a few moments.

"Do you want to continue?" Youngjae said, touching her cheek. "I don't know. It seemed weird to continue at this point. Sorry ... We can go on if you want?"

"It's okay. I'm pretty bushed." Sunhwa closed her eyes again and laid her head in his lap. “Can we go somewhere else, Youngjae?” She didn’t even know where to go. Anywhere would be better than staying.“I feel claustrophobic. I don’t want to leave these secrets here. This garden is too small for them. It’s too small for the ones that will come out if we keep talking."

“Let’s go down to the river.”

The first – the absolute number one – of all the things she didn’t know now, was what he could be thinking by suggesting that. “The river? Why? Why would you think that’s a good idea?"

“I don’t know. I just – I think it would be good if we saw them again. Now that we’ve stopped trying.” He threaded their fingers together. “Please? I know I’ve asked a lot of you. But I think it would be good for both of us.”

:::

The Han river. It was black as deep tar in the night. Rows upon rows of lights flanked it: buildings, street lamps, cars; it was criss-crossed by illumined bridges. But the Han itself was a void. Sunhwa had never liked it.

But she had wanted her children to live by the water, as she had when growing up. She had also wanted them to be near her. It was the best compromise.

Youngjae sat down by the tree they had chosen, the first time they came here under the cover of night. That had been seven years ago.

“Do you remember how scared we were?” He laughed, in a tentative way, as if he wasn’t sure if he should laugh. “We thought someone would call the police on us for burying a corpse."

“We did murder them, in a way. Something in our bodies.” The doctors had never found out what it was that caused their infertility, nor their three stillbirths. It was quite normal, the doctors had said, as they had said before. Causes could not be found for about a third of couples. It was like a mantra she had come to associate with doctors. Sunhwa could tell the words were meant to be reassuring, but she could not fathom how.

The babies had been small – no bigger than her palm when she'd held them. Her belly had never showed. They had told friends and family that the embryos never implanted. A lifetime of unsolicited comments. She was resigned to them when they came, but that didn’t mean she didn’t try to avoid them if she could.

“Don’t be morbid. You’ve always been too hard on yourself. Come here, sit with me.” Youngjae patted the ground beside him. She sat down by him, and he pulled her close again.

She thought about how her belly had never showed. Here she was at forty-two, stick-thin as a virgin girl and had always been; the envy of her friends. She envied their curves. She envied the way their cheeks and arms wobbled when they laughed with their families. Jieun, Hana, the girls who had been afraid to become idols, despite their manifest talents, because of their bodies. Their beautiful, able bodies.

"I keep thinking about what you said outside the restaurant. Some things you can only tell a stranger. Too much baggage. I kept thinking, 'What kind of husband am I, that our past together would be marked by loss and guilt? Why does my wife need to plan an elaborate ruse to be honest with me?"

She reached up and held his chin, tilting his face down to look at her. “Don’t _you_ be too hard on yourself. Haven’t you been listening? Most of my loss and guilt is not your fault. In fact, you made it easier. I can’t deny that the recent years that have took their toll on us, but they would take a toll on anybody. As for the elaborate ruse …” She shrugged. “I thought it would be something fun to do. I’ve been feeling so empty.” She looked out onto the river. It was still uncomfortably blank, like a mirror, but it comforted her to know that her family was around her. “I realised something as we were talking. Those years we were paying for the treatments. I felt I was working for something. But that’s gone now. I don’t know why I go to the office every morning. Or what to look forward to, in general."

“We’ll figure something out. I know we can. We’re a good team when I’m not off being obsessed by something else.” He squeezed her hand. “I’m sorry. I'm your husband. I forgot my real job is being with you."

If there was an upside to marrying a smart man, it was that he knew all the right answers. Sunhwa folded her hands on her stomach, content for now. Tomorrow would bring its plans and problems; the work of fashioning new dreams into reality. She was content for now.

:::

Sunhwa rubbed her hands together in a mixture of anxiety and anticipation. The skin on them was dry, almost peeling. She had been baking non-stop the previous day.

She’d been doing many things non-stop for the past year. Choosing decor. Picking out the books she would line the shelves with. Calculating how much of their savings she could invest in the coffee machine. Curating a menu.

She should have been tired. She was, in a way. But she had also never felt more alive.

“Morning, baby,” said a voice, low in her ear. Arms wrapped around her waist, and a warm body pressed up against hers from behind. Sunhwa felt something powerful stir in the pit of her belly.

“Not now, Youngjae,” she moaned, trying to push him away. “We have to open in fifteen minutes.”

“Fifteen minutes could be all we need,” he murmured. Goddamn his husky voice. “Or we could open tomorrow. That’s the benefit of being your own boss. Hey, that leaves us twenty-four hours to go at it like rabbits.”

“The cakes will go stale,” she said, swatting away the hand that was creeping up under her skirt. It was tempting, but she had been looking forward to this day for months. _Months_. How many sleepless, keyed-up nights did that add up to? How many plans, dreamed up and reworked over again, to perfection? “I didn’t bake all day for nothing. How did you get any business off the ground with this work ethic?”

“I didn’t have you around to distract me,” he said, releasing her and winking. “No, you’re right. Let’s do this.” He rolled up his sleeves. “I’ll set the cakes out in the display. Then I’ll open the shutters. After that, you just tell me what to do, boss lady. Youngjae the magnificent is efficiently at your disposal.”

:::

4:30pm. The sun slanted with an amber tint into her – her! – shop window, giving her cafe a rather charming, old-world glow, if she said so herself. She looked around at her customers with satisfaction. They looked pleased with the food, engrossed in the books, or a combination of both. Not bad for a first day at all.

The bell signalling the opening of a door and a new customer rang.

“Youngjae!”

“Yes ma’am!” replied a voice, fading rapidly toward the direction of the entrance. “Getting the door, ma’am!”

Sunhwa smiled and turned her focus to the coffee machine. She frowned at it. The one glitch in a perfect opening day. It seemed the milk steamer had jammed. Well, nothing a screwdriver and a little elbow grease couldn’t fix …

“Um.” Sunhwa heard the drumming of fingers on the countertop beside her. She moved her head and looked up from under the coffee machine hood at her husband. He had an uncomfortable look on his face. “Remember your best friend from high school? The one you lost contact with rather awkwardly?”

“Hyosung?” Sunhwa frowned even more deeply. Why was Youngjae bringing her up now?

“Oh boy. That _is_ her name. I remembered correctly. Ohhhh boyyyyy.” Youngjae slid his eyes to the side, as if he was trying to look behind him without obviously looking behind him. “Well, um. Don’t look now, but there’s a lady by that name who just walked in. At least that’s what I heard her friend call her. And she fits the description of your long-lost, star-crossed best friend to an amazing, amazing degree, really quite out of the range of coincidence, such that I am forced to conclude that she –”

Sunhwa stood up and pushed Youngjae aside. She loved the man, but he was pretty useless (and annoying) when he got into one of his anxiety-stricken rambles. And what he was saying made her want to confirm its accuracy immediately.

Oh God. It could only be her. No one else.

She was slimmer and more lined in the face, to be sure. But she still held her head high. With her now-red hair, she looked like the lion she was. She was looking around, apparently unaware that Youngjae had recognised her, talking to the taller woman at her side. Sunhwa saw that their pinky fingers were discretely linked.

Just like she used to link her fingers with Sunhwa’s.

Sunhwa suddenly found herself more nervous than she had been in the morning. What should she do? All she wanted to do was run to Hyosung and hug her tightly – as tightly as she could, and never let her go. But that was the kind of thing that had landed them in trouble to begin with.

“Um, should I go ask them, ‘Table for two?’ Or something?”

“Don’t be silly,” said Sunhwa, dumping the screwdriver into Youngjae’s hand. “I’m going to talk to them.”

She walked towards them. In truth, she had no idea what to say.

“Uh, table for two?”

“Can we look at your menu fir-” Hyosung stopped mid-sentence. This was only the second time Sunhwa had seen Hyosung lost for words. The first time was on a balmy summer’s night, twenty-one years ago.

Sunhwa grinned reflexively. “Hi, it’s me.”

:::

A law of the universe: when two adult friends meet, their spouses entertain each other.

Youngjae was saying something he seemed to find knee-slappingly funny. Yu-Jin had on a smile that did not reach her eyes. The only person Youngjae was entertaining, apparently, was himself.

“I apologise for my husband.”

“It’s cool. Yu-Jin needs to grow a sense of humour.”

 _Not the kind of person I thought you would end up with,_ Sunhwa wanted to say, but she found herself censoring everything she wanted to say. Would she sound jealous to Hyosung’s ears? Would she, after twenty-one years and marriages to other people?

Hyosung had dispelled their earlier awkwardness by screaming and pulling Sunhwa into a bearhug. Sunhwa had hugged her back. _My shooting star_ , she’d wanted to say, _you’ve returned_. But she’d kept that to herself too. Theoe were the lines that had gotten them into trouble.

There were several things Sunhwa expected of middle-aged Hyosung that had turned out to be true. One, she had no kids. Hyosung had never wanted any, even if two women could adopt them. Two, she still could not cook; hated to read. Three, she was not as intense as she used to be. Even Hyosung could not defy the mellowing of age.

There were also things, however, that Sunhwa did not expect. Number one, Hyosung had not been in Los Angeles, being the most dazzling dance instructor that ever lived. She had become an airline pilot. But maybe that was not so unlikely, for a shooting star.

“These military types are all kinda stiff,” she said, as she poured them tea.

Two, she had been in the military. That was after roaming LA for a few years, so Sunhwa was half-right at least. Hyosung, who never let anyone tell her what to do, had signed up to be ordered around. But that was just to get the paid flight training. There, she had met her wife.

Three, she had wedded early. Independent, don’t-tie-me-down Hyosung.

"I'm surprised you're surprised. Why did you think I didn’t wanna get married? I asked you out when we were so young."

And there was the topic, broached sooner than Sunhwa could have thought. But that was Hyosung for you.

Sunhwa shrugged. "Dating's not marriage."

"Ah, you're right. Didn’t think that way back then," said Hyosung. She cut herself a big piece of their cheese tart and munched thoughtfully. "You know, I was heartbroken ... but then I figured out we wouldn't have stayed together. Even if you liked women."

That was not what Sunhwa had figured out. "Why?"

"I don't want kids, silly. Never did."

"I didn't end up with kids!"

"Sounds like he wanted them though," said Hyosung, pillowing her head on her arms and smiling.

"Sunhwa, sorry to interrupt, but do you mind coming to the counter? Just for awhile," said Youngjae, walking up from behind Hyosung with a 'SAVE ME' expression. "I have a surprise for you." He turned to Hyosung as well. "Join us, Hyosung. Join in the fun."

Sunhwa, Hyosung and Yu-Jin gathered around the counter, chatting and waiting for Youngjae while he rummaged around in the back. _That’s a lot of rummaging,_ thought Sunhwa. But eventually he emerged.

“I know it’s not till next week,” said Youngjae, bringing out a slice of cake with a lighted candle. “But given this confluence of happy events, I thought we might celebrate your birthday.”

“Wow. Surprising me with a cake I baked myself. Youngjae the magnificent indeed,” said Sunhwa, folding her arms.

Youngjae cringed. “I’m sorry. I know it’s lame. But I just thought with Hyosung here, and the store opening, and your birthday coming up … ”

“I’m joking, honey.” She kissed him on the cheek. “You are so thoughtful.”

As Sunhwa blew out the candle, a thought occurred to her: she had realised a dream. She didn’t know what the future would bring for this business – in her wildest dreams, she envisioned a nation-wide chain. Maybe even an international one? Whatever it was, it would combine an intimate atmosphere with an ambitious reach. Was that unrealistic? But she had always been a daydreamer. It could lend itself to bad habits, but it could also be her greatest strength.

And much, much more uniquely – she felt in control. It wasn’t that she had been powerless. She had wanted to become a singer and a mother, and had chased those goals without rest – against her father, against her very biology. She’d found lifelong friends and married a wonderful man. And yet, that night on the river, she noticed for the first time how much she’d let others affect her along the way. She believed she had grown strong, but all she had grown was numb. Now she felt different. Now she felt alive.

“I’m forty-three,” said Sunhwa placing her arms around her husband’s neck. She felt a giggle bubbling up in her. “Forty-three and finally free.”

“Never too late.” Youngjae pulled her in and placed a kiss on her cheek. In that kiss she felt all his pride in her. She opened her eyes and saw Hyosung over his shoulder, her eyesmile as radiant as it was when they were young. “You always had it in you. Congratulations, my love.”

:::

**Coda: Another Winter**

_Forty-five years later._

“Your move.”

“Okay,” he said, fingers on his chin. “Okay, I got it.” He moved his piece.

“Checkmate.”

“Again?” The old man scratched the back of his head, distressed. The three hairs on his head moved between his fingers. “How did that happen this time?”

“Daehyun, Daehyun.” Youngjae drummed his fingers on the table in self-satisfaction. “You need to be quicker on the uptake, my good man.”

“This is bullshit.” If they were still boys, Youngjae knew, Daehyun would have pushed the table away from himself – square into Youngjae’s stomach, and stomped off in a prickly fit. But they tried to spare their knees from unneeded strain nowadays. It was a rare that Youngjae was thankful for the necessity, but this was one of those times.

“Why do we only play games you’re good at?” Daehyun continued. It was hard to get Daehyun to stop, once he got started on a really good rant. Youngjae had given up about, oh, sixty-five years ago. He saw no reason to begin anew now. “We should play table-tennis tomorrow.”

“Table-tennis. Really.”

“Yes,” said Daehyun, defiant. “It’s not like I’m suggesting soccer or basketball or fucking … whitewater rafting or whatever the fuck dangerous sports kids are doing nowadays. Don’t look at me like I’m a retard, Yoo Youngjae. You’ve always been an asshole, but you know I’m not a retard. I just have trouble reading. You know I have a normal brain apart from that, you _know_.”

“I know, Daehyun,” Youngjae reached across the table to hold his friend’s arm. A wound opened on his heart each time this topic came up. It was a wound that had been scratched apart many times; one that’d only had time to scab over in the thirty years he’d lost contact with his best friend. He felt guilty too, when he recalled their lost years. Could you call someone your best friend if you’d ignored their calls for three decades? "I do know that. I’m sorry.”

“You’d better be,” grumbled Daehyun. “You have a lot to be sorry about.”

“Yes, I know. I’m sorry.”

“Okay.” Daehyun looked away from him and out onto the park. Well, that was that crisis averted. Not as if there weren’t several a day. It had always been this way with them, this bizarre friendship that was equal parts play and equal parts fight. But that dynamic had taken on a more grating edge in this latter stage of their lives. The old saw was true, Youngjae mused, that people became more set in their ways. A particularly bright spark of a colleague, with a masters’ degree in neuroscience but who had somehow found his way into start-ups, had educated him about that. Fixedness, Junhong had said, was not actually a bad thing. People became more rigid as they grew older because it was the brain’s way of becoming more efficient.

“We have only so much space in our heads, hyung. Especially your small one,” he’d said, winking and deftly dodging a cuff from Youngjae. “The brain has to specialise for us to reach our full potential. It cuts away the exploratory parts of itself as we learn what works for us. Ourlives, our unique situations. That’s why there are so many different kinds of people in this world."

He missed that kid sometimes. Junhong had been so full of promise that Youngjae was sure his would be a household name eventually. But after their little venture had ended, he never heard from or of Junhong again. He wondered, far too often, where these lives that had intersected with his had landed. In glory or in the gutter? Or, like most people, with their disappointments, but quite content?

Youngjae was inclined to believe the latter. He had no idea where the first thought had had its origin. “In glory or in the gutter?” Honestly. Sometimes it seemed as if Sunhwa was speaking in his head.

“I’m worried about In-hye.”

Oh God. Not this again.

“She’s thirty. _Thirty_ , Youngjae. A woman should be married at that age.”

 _Breathe. Breathe, Youngjae,_ he told himself. _Patience is the better part of wisdom._

“And I don’t approve of this PhD nonsense. Yes, I know you’ve heard me talk about this before, but what can I do? It keeps me up at night. What man is going to want to marry a woman smarter than him? She’s learning herself out of the marriage market."

_Patience. Empathy. Understanding. Equanimity ..._

“I never went beyond a basic degree. Neither did Chorong. We both did fine. And In-hye’s mum, my sweet Eun-Ji. Hell, even you, Youngjae, with your big brain. Why does she have to do this? I don’t understand it. I won’t allow it.” Daehyun huffed, looking more like a grumpy old man than ever. “No granddaughter of mine is gonna be left on the shelf.”

“What makes you think she’ll be left on the shelf?” Youngjae rubbed his temples. Sometimes he wondered if getting pulled into the intrigues and nonsense of Daehyun’s multi-generational clan was worth the blood pressure. “She is a sensible, kindhearted person. I would be proud to have her as my granddaughter. Anyone with taste would bring down the world to have her. I cannot see, Daehyun, why you would be even the slightest bit worried about her prospects. And even if –"

“You’re missing the point –“

“Even if!” Youngjae continued. He would not be deterred this time. Daehyun could not hang his guilt over his head forever. “She were to remain single. What’s wrong with that? A person can be a happy, contributing member of society unmarried. She needn’t be lonely.”

“A man, maybe. Not a woman."

“You are impossible! You’ve only gotten worse with age,” said Youngjae, incredulous. He stood up. Knees be damned, he had to drill this point into Daehyun’s thick skull once and for all. “What difference does it make if she’s a man or a woman?”

“Everything! Everything, Youngjae. Goddammit.” Daehyun winced as he stood up too. “Men and women have different bodies and different brains. Didn't your young friend – what’s his name – you told me your brain scientist friend said that!” He thumped his walking cane on the hard winter floor. “You don’t understand because you don’t have daughters. Granddaughters ... You don’t understand the worries I go through!"

“You don’t understand how to treat people!” Sometimes Youngjae wondered if he should keep his mouth shut, just be the mild great-granduncle who sat on the side of Jung family gatherings: playing with babies, watching TV, eating great food and trouncing every punk who dared to start up a game of chess. But he found he could not. It seemed he had a soft spot for this one spawn of Daehyun's. “Don’t you see how you alienate her? Even I can see how your words push her away. Of all the grandchildren to lose.” Youngjae huffed. “The best one.”

“You just like her because she’s smart like you. And because you have none of your own. Don’t think I don’t know, Youngjae. You act like it was Sunhwa who wanted them, but you felt it too.”

“Is this relevant?” Youngjae marvelled constantly at how, even with thirty years of blank space between them – over the period when the most central things in their lives had happened – how he and Daehyun knew just how to press each other’s buttons. Sometimes he wondered if it would have been easier to put himself up in the most comfortable home for the elderly in Seoul, whiling the rest of his limited days away with people he didn’t know from Adam. It might have been easier on his heart, and God knows he had the money. The combined earnings from his and Sunhwa’s ventures added up to a tidy sum. So heaven knows, he had the means to go. Sometimes he thought he should get on the train leaving Busan the very next day.

“It is relevant, because you’re interfering with my family!” Daehyun roared. The old man still had a pair of lungs in him. “Why do I put up with your newfangled ideas about women, and, and, abortion, and whatever? And everything? I was the one who took you in!"

" _Took me in?_ I pay for half the house. You just bred the people who visit us occasionally. And what do you mean, newfangled? My beliefs are currentto our generation. You’re the one with attitudes from the _1950’s!_ ” Youngjae could feel his heart galloping at a pace that could not be good for his health. He tried to take deep breaths. It was useless however. He was too worked up. "I’d say it was the onset of dementia, Daehyun, but you were like this from a shockingly young age.”

“Ooooh, ‘shockingly’, said Daehyun, with incredible derision. “Big word. Youngjae’s so smart. Youngjae’s soooooo much smarter than Daehyun, that’s why he gets to talk down at him. That’s why has all these fancy ideas about the world and lectures Daehyun about how he should run his family, when he has no family of his own. _Because_ he has no family."

“I don’t know you anymore.” Youngjae felt helpless. Did Daehyun have to go for the jugular every single time? "When did we grow apart?”

“Since you stopped picking up my calls,” said Daehyun, through his teeth. “How do you have the nerve to say that? You were my best man. You gave that speech at my wedding and made me cry like a girl in front of all those people. Then thirty years of radio silence.” He spat on the ground. “The fucking nerve."

“I think it started before that, Daehyun.” Youngjae closed his eyes. He could not look at Daehyun anymore. He simply could not. He got up from the chess table and began to walk off.

“Hey!” Daehyun shouted. Youngjae heard the repetitive thumping of Daehyun’s cane on the ground. He did not care. He put his hands into his coat pockets and kept on walking. “Where do you think you’re going?”

“I don’t know. Somewhere. Anywhere. Away from you.”

:::

Youngjae blinked back the water in his eyes. He liked to think it was there because of the wind, which was beginning to get drier and more cutting as the days passed deeper into winter. But he knew better.

 _I wish you were here, Sunhwa._ _I wouldn’t have to put up with this ranting madman if you were._ He wanted to sit. He was getting tired. That last fight with Daehyun had taken a lot out of him. But he could see nowhere high enough to sit, that would not tax his knees if he bent down to it. Just curbs and low steps hemming in gardens.

It was very difficult to be this old.

A pain was growing in his legs. He really had to find somewhere to sit down soon. Maybe if he went to a convenience store … he knew one on the junction of Suyeong-ro and Okjeon 1-gil. That was not far from here. Just round that corner ahead.

Youngjae rounded the corner; but he found himself lost. It was an unfamiliar street, not the one he thought it was. Where was he? Youngjae looked around. This was not an area he knew. He felt hazy, disoriented. He had not grown up in Busan. Not like the people fate had appointed him to.

A stray dog, as tall as the middle of his thighs, ran straight into him. Youngjae fell.

An incredible pain shot through his hips as Youngjae hit the ground. He heard the dog’s barks grow further away. The winter wind blew knives into his joints. _This is it_ , Youngjae thought. _I’m going to die here. On my back like a turtle, alone._ He closed his eyes.

“Youngjae! Oh my God, Youngjae.”

He opened them. Daehyun.

“I knew something bad had happened. I knew it. I knew it. A chill came over me. Oh my God, Youngjae, I panicked. Maybe it was just arthritis or something, but I was worried it might be you.” Daehyun looked as frightened as he claimed; maybe even more so. He reached out to Youngjae.

“Stop it! Daehyun! Don’t be stupid. You can’t pull me up. You’ll fall on me and kill us both.” Youngjae let out the breath he didn’t know he’d been holding. God sent strange angels. “Ask for help.”

“There’s no one around.”

“Call your granddaughter. She’ll be getting off the train from Seoul now.” The cold from the ground was beginning to seep through his coat. Maybe he really should get a new one. But he had maintained it well, and he thought there was little point. What if he passed away the month after he bought it? What a waste that would be.

A smile came then, absurdly, to Youngjae’s face. Sunhwa would scold him if she could heard his thoughts. Well. Maybe she could hear them.

“These goddamned fucking new handphones are too complicated,” Daehyun muttered. He squinted at the screen. “You’d think with technology they could make the font bigger.”

“You don’t have to read any font, Daehyun.” Youngjae closed his eyes and sighed. “She helped you save her number on the side button the last time she visited. Just long-press it.”

“Oh. Right.”

Youngjae kept his eyes closed. Soon he heard Daehyun’s voice, rumbling intermittently in a one-sided conversation. Everything was going to be okay.

:::

“Your grandfather is very lucky. Falls can be fatal for someone his age. There’s nothing wrong with him that won't heal, however.”

“Thank goodness.” The lady at his bedside sighed with relief. Youngjae found himself quite pleased that she had not bothered to correct the doctor.

When she left the room, still discussing his care with the doctor, Daehyun turned to him with one eyebrow lifted. “ ‘Your grandfather,’ huh? What am I, chopped liver?” Daehyun had a corner of his mouth quirked, in a mood quite unlike the one he was in before.

“Don’t be silly, you’re her real granddad. There was just a lot of other information to worry about.”

“Still, I don’t think any of my other grandkids would react the same way.” Daehyun was craning his neck, looking at In-hye and the doctor talking. “Sometimes she reminds me of you, more than me or Chorong. Look at the way she’s frowning. She'll give herself a headache, thinking that hard.” He squinted. “Do you think she’s using big words? I think she’s using big words.”

“Shut up, asshole.”

“I’ll let that slide, because I’m responsible for the pain you’re in now.” Daehyun looked down at Youngjae with sorrow in his eyes. “I’m sorry, old friend.”

Daehyun took his hand. Youngjae let him take it, closing his eyes. Another day with Jung Daehyun.

:::

“This doesn’t change the fact that I’m worried about her.”

Youngjae opened his eyes. Now he was annoyed. Again. Another day with Jung Daehyun indeed. Over and over and over, until this crotchety old fart killed him …

“Don’t raise your own blood pressure. I’m not talking about her marriage prospects,” Daehyun said, sliding his eyes toward the doorway. “Not that I don’t still worry about it. But I’m not discussing that with you anymore, not after what just happened. I mean. She told me she’s having trouble with money.”

“No.” Youngjae almost sat up in his bed, until he remembered the state he was in. Luckily he had always been good at controlling his impulses. He settled himself even further into the mattress, as if it could guard him from further injury. Then he let his mind go to what Daehyun had just said. It didn’t seem plausible. In-hye was unlike the rest of Daehyun’s progeny; it was improbable that she had gambled away her money or spent it on drink or spoiling her friends. What had happened?

“Yes.” Daehyun sighed. “Apparently the sponsorship for her degree got yanked. Don’t ask me about the details, I’ve earned the right not to listen to yawn-some things at my age,” said Daehyun, putting up his hand in a ‘stop’ sign. “But now she can’t do the PhD without going, like. Totally broke.”

Youngjae snorted. “Well, you must be happy."

“Are you kidding me?” said Daehyun fiercely. “My granddaughter deserves that sponsorship. She’s smart, and hardworking, and she’s –"

“Have you gone _completely_ out of your _mind_?” Youngjae was not just incredulous now, he was … he was … well, for once in his life he didn’t know the right word to use, but whatever it was that lay beyond ‘incredulous', he was way past it. “What the fuck am I lying in this hospital bed for? You were saying you wanted to stop her yourself a few hours ago. I don’t know if it’s dementia, or if you’re having a stroke, or if fucking aliens have taken over your empty head _,_ Jung Daehyun, but if we had that argument, and I fell, for _fuckall –"_

“Cool. Your fucking jets. Okay?” It was a marvel, sometimes, to watch these dude-phrases come out of that wrinkled mouth. The corners of the mouth sagged a little. “I just want the best for In-hye. Is that so hard to understand? I want her to be happily married. I want her to have kids. I want her to be the bestest world-famous biowhachamacallitscientist-lady that ever was, too. I just don’t think it’s both possible. And if I was forced to choose, it would be the first two. ‘Cos that worked out for me.” Daehyun let out a long breath. “But it makes me angry to see this happen. She earned that money fair and square. I dunno why I feel like this, Youngjae. You’d think I’d be happy. But God. It makes my blood boil.”

Youngjae’s heart softened. Daehyun looked, in that moment, like the fruitlessly thrashing old man he was. That he had been from a young age, actually. He recalled Daehyun’s no-hope years, back in high school up to university, and thought it almost an improvement. It didn’t matter if Daehyun didn’t make sense. It wasn’t dementia, Youngjae was certain. Daehyun had never made any sense.

:::

He had hobbled out of bed, somehow, as Daehyun snored in the chair beside him. Youngjae hadn’t worried about being discreet. A thunderstorm wouldn’t wake Daehyun nowadays. He had then manoeuvred himself into the nurse’s office and sweet-talked a middle-aged matron into giving him a wheelchair. Youngjae popped his collar as he wheeled himself out, supremely pleased. He might be getting on in his years, but the old Yoo charm raged on. Like a tiger. _Rowrr._

“Granduncle Youngjae.” In-hye tutted, coming over. “Shouldn't you be in bed?”

“Who, me? Noooooo,” he said, still drunk on success. “As Puff Daddy wrote: ‘Ain’t nobody gonna break my stride! Ain’t nobody gonna hold me down! Oh no! I got to keep on movin’!"

“I think it was Matthew Wilder who wrote those lines,” said In-hye, quirking an eyebrow. “Although, don’t take my word for it. Weren’t you alive when that happened?"

“I was not. So clearly I am younger than you,” said Youngjae waving his hand dismissively, until he noticed that the IV plug he had unfastened was still attached to it. Oops. He put his hand down before In-hye saw and wheeled him back to bed. Anyway, he had something to take out of his pocket.

He reached in and took out a carefully folded piece of paper. He pressed it into her hand. “Daehyun told me what happened. These are my bank account details.”

In-hye looked at him with eyes that had grown wide and awestruck. It recalled a boy Youngjae once knew, back when the world had not yet left that young boy bitter.

“No. I can’t. This is your money. You don’t have children to provide for you. This is to cover your expenses for a long time.” She tried to give the paper back to Youngjae, but he put his hands behind the wheelchair, out of her reach.

“Yes, you can. There is more in there than I could hope to use, even if I had to be on life support for the next fifty years. Use your mind, In-hye. I am eighty-four. That is unlikely. But more importantly, I want you to have it. And if people ask,” Youngjae said, waving his hand, before realising what he was doing and hastily putting it behind him again, “you’re smart. Come up with an excuse. Tell them you won the lottery. Are smuggling cocaine from South America. Robbed a bank. Anything."

In-hye didn’t reply. She just blinked back her tears fiercely, as if she didn’t want them to be seen. Just like Daehyun would.

“I have come to think of you,” said Youngjae quietly, “as my own granddaughter."

“Granduncle Youngjae,” said In-hye. “I –“

“No. No need for words.” Youngjae put his hands in his pockets and smiled. Sometimes it was nice to be the kindly old granduncle, hokey as it was. “Just go and contribute to the world. That will be gratitude enough. Actually, no.” He stopped himself. If there was anything he had had to learn and re-learn, many times in his short life, it was that achievement was not the greatest good. Love was. “You don’t have to do anything. Just be happy. That will be thanks enough for me."

:::

“Well, that was a little adventure,” said Daehyun, wheeling him into their apartment. “Home sweet home. Nothing like it, eh buddy?”

They had spent a week at the hospital, making sure Youngjae got back to good health. In-hye had spent the time talking to doctors, playing chess with him, and driving Daehyun back and forth from their home to the hospital. Daehyun had wanted to stay nights – made a big fuss in the nurse’s office even, much to Youngjae’s embarassment – but the hospital had been firm. Daehyun would not be allowed to sleep on a cold hospital futon. Not at his age.

“Reminded me of the first time we asked our parents for a sleepover. They said no, remember? ‘Not at your age’,” said Daehyun, in a deep tone that Youngjae surmised was supposed to be his ‘Dad’ voice. Even though Daehyun was much older than his father had been. "I wonder why? I thought we were old enough.”

“They were probably afraid you would eat everything in our house.” They had been fourteen, just hitting puberty. If Daehyun’s appetite had been large before, it reached monstrosity levels that summer. “Do you remember that year? Your mum had to double your allowance just to cover your food.”

“Double is an exaggeration. Pretty sure.” Daehyun wheeled him up to the table. “Although I gotta admit. It was expensive feeding my kids."

“You don’t say. I thought Chorong had been asked to cook for the Korean army.”

“How would you know, you were only around for the first tw–“ Daehyun stopped himself mid-sentence. “Yeah, you’re right.” He sighed and looked around the apartment. “I feed those brats with my sweat and tears, and look where they leave us. Alone. Two sorry old bastards trying to fend for themselves. Bah!” Daehyun bumped his cane on the ground. Youngjae had learnt to read the many moods Daehyun communicated with his cane-bumping. This one said, quite clearly, that his childless old pal Youngjae was sometimes the one better off. "What’s the use of children anyway? They take your money, they suck out your life, and then they want to run away and live by themselves. Not like our generation. We had some respect.”

“I don’t remember _you_ letting your parents live with you.”

“I wasn't the eldest.” Daehyun sniffed. “Everyone has his place.”

Youngjae rolled his eyes. Daehyun never made any sense. Why bother talking to a nonsensical old coot? He was just going wheel off like a sensible person and make some tea.

:::

“It’s too hot, asshole. What if more accidents happe – _Ow!_ _Youngjae!_ ”

“My hands have started to shake, okay? It started last year. You try pouring with this goddamned heavy teapot!” Youngjae let the teapot drop, quite a bit more heavily than he intended to. Oh no. Had it cracked? He peered his eyes at the bottom. No liquid leaking, it appeared. Phew.

“I can’t. My hands have started to shake too,” Daehyun said, blowing on his burn. He started to laugh. “Oh God. Soon we’ll have to hire a nurse just to help us pour tea.”

“I think that day has already arrived,” said Youngjae, ruefully. “I give up. Our afternoon shall be a tea-less one.”

Thankfully, Daehyun’s hands were still slightly less shaky than Youngjae’s. Just enough to functionally pour tea. Youngjae sipped carefully, having asked Daehyun to pour him just half a cup. That was to stop himself from shaking scalding tea onto his lap. He did not intend to go back to the hospital for a long while.

“It’s a funny thing,” said Daehyun. “Did something happen when I was asleep?”

“What?”

“In-hye seemed different when I woke up. Just … lighter. I dunno. It’s weird.” He shook his head like a puppy-dog shaking off water. When he had been younger, with his thick head of floppy hair, it had been cute. Now that all he had was three hairs and a patch of liver spots, it was just absurd. “I’m trying, Youngjae, but I can’t shake the feeling something good happened while I slept."

Youngjae looked up at the sky. _Good_. It was a nice word to hear. _Did I do good, Sunhwa?_ he asked, of the cloudless blue patch in the window. _By the child? By our friend?_

 _You did_ , she answered. _I’m so proud of you, my love._

“I mean … Youngjae. I dunno! Like. I dunno.” Daehyun blubbered on, interrupting his thoughts. Youngjae clamped his lips, trying to keep irritation from spilling over into words. _Do you mind, Daehyun?_ he thought. _I was having a moment with my dearly departed wife. You know. The person I would much rather be spending every moment with._

Daehyun scratched his liver-spotted head. “Argh. I … I dunno, man. Do you sometimes feel like they’re watching over us?”

“Who?”

“Chorong and Sunhwa. Do you feel like they’re watching over us? I know you’re gonna think I’m crazy, you with your ‘Science’ and stuff,” said Daehyun, making air-quotes, as if he was still some bum with a snapback. “But I just get this feeling sometimes. And before you ask me, I have no proof. Okay? Zero. Just a feeling. But sometimes that’s good enough, right?”

Daehyun looked up at him. Youngjae blinked several times. There was a light in Daehyun’s eyes he hadn’t seen in a long, long while. It was the wonder of a young boy. Daehyun’s now-bright eyes shone at him, pure, even though they were surrounded by drooping flesh. _Don’t crush my hope, Youngjae,_ they said. _Not now._

“Of course they’re watching over us.” There was no condescension in Youngjae's voice.

Daehyun nodded, eyes still young. Then he turned away to look at the sky.

The moment had passed, like many other moments in Youngjae’s life. But the image remained in his memory. Youngjae pictured tucking it away deep inside the treasure chest of his mind. The chest was slowly beginning to fall apart, rotting with the dampness of years. But Youngjae hoped if he pushed the memory in deep enough – deep into the very centre, with all the rest of the things dear to his heart – that it would hold. That he could see it still on his deathbed, in that lonely space before Sunhwa took him into her arms again.

“It’s been a good life, Youngjae.” Daehyun drank his tea. “It is a good life.”

“It is."

**Author's Note:**

> This story was very much inspired by [this song](http://www.azlyrics.com/lyrics/abba/chiquitita.html).
> 
> First scene cribbed from [New York I Love You, Yvan Attal segment ("Things You Can Say to a Stranger")](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CStIonYD1Og). Charming movie, go check it out!


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